


Out with a Bang

by Britty



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bedroom Sex, Comedy, Dirty Talk, Drama, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holy Wood Era, M/M, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britty/pseuds/Britty
Summary: “I can't believe you did that to me.”John got more than he asked for.





	Out with a Bang

"I win."

"Damn it!"

Ginger threw his cards onto the table in defeat while John smirked in victory. Both of them were sitting on the floor across from each other, a coffee table full of gaming material between them. For the majority of the afternoon, they had been playing a bunch of different board games, an activity that only came to fruition because of a rather unfortunate development in Ginger's life.

"Remind me again _why_ we're doing this?" Ginger asked, his nose wrinkling.

"Because you forgot to pay your hydro bill," John replied nonchalantly and then busied himself with rearranging the things on the table. Ginger sniffed indignantly; then he fell back to lie flat on the floor.

He hated the fact that he had indeed forgotten to pay the hydro bill, and his exhaustion after a worldwide tour was to blame for that. Ginger had been so exhausted in fact, that the minute Ginger arrived home from a yearlong tour, he had graciously dropped facedown onto his bed and proceeded to sleep like the dead for the next month. It was during this time that Ginger had forgotten to pay for his hydro, despite having done the deed for his other utilities, even the less important ones like his satellite TV; as a result, he woke one day to find his home without power. What followed right after was the outburst of a single expletive.

Ginger had made his amends with the hydro company since then and was now waiting for the power to return to its glory, which was taking its sweet-ass time.

In the meantime, Ginger was being kept sane by his best friend, John, who had popped over for a visit earlier in the day. When John had learned of his predicament, he suggested that they should play board games until the power restored.

So that was what they did.

For many hours, they played multiple household board games, such as Clue, Monopoly, and other beloved creations. Ginger had wondered where the majority of the board games came from, recalling to have only owned two of the dozen. He deduced that most of the games belonged to John, who had brought them over one at a time throughout the years and had never bothered to take them back.

The games were indulging at first, but after four straight hours, it got very tedious. Particularly for Ginger. John, on the other hand, didn't share this sentiment.

"Want to play again?"

"No."

"Okay. How about we play Scrabble next?"

"No."

"All right. What about—"

" _No._ "

John rolled his eyes and sighed, his blond fringe blowing aside. He continued to offer more suggestions on other activities they could do, but Ginger continuously rejected every proposal he made. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the man was bored, so John thought of another activity they could do to pass the time; something that both of them would enjoy.

He made his way around the coffee table and crawled over to where Ginger was lying, climbing over him on all fours until they met face to face. Ginger raised a brow in question, then snorted when John waggled his eyebrows.

"You know," John murmured as he leaned down to brush his lips lightly over Ginger's. "There is one activity we could do that would surely have your _interest._ "

"Yeah?" Ginger smirked, catching John's lips in a chased kiss. "And what would that be?"

"You're a smart man, Ginger," John purred. "Think about it." He moved his lips down to Ginger's neck to kiss the sensitive skin there. "You, me..." he lightly nipped him, "and a bed."

"Fuck." Ginger's jeans started to feel tight.

"Mm, that's it," John cooed, still kissing along his neck. "Interested?"

With a growl and a surprised yelp from John, Ginger promptly rolled them over and welded their bodies together, grinding their crotches in tandem. "You know I am, you magnificent bastard."

John groaned. He dug his fingers into Ginger's hazel-brown hair and pulled him in for a heated kiss, teeth nipping and tongues dancing. They parted with an absurd smack, lips red and swollen, and John pressed his groin against Ginger's.

"Then let's play," he panted.

~*~*~

"Does that feel good, Johnny boy?" Ginger asked breathily, his hips moving in a steady rhythm, relishing in John's tight heat.

John nodded, biting his lip. "Yes, oh god, _yes_ ,” he moaned, shoving his ass backwards to meet Ginger's thrusts.

Yep, John was right. This activity was something that both of them were enjoying very much. How in the world didn't they do this in the first place? It could've saved Ginger the hours of life-sucking boredom. But that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that delicious little rump in front of him.

Ginger gripped the globes of John's bum and spread them open, purring as he took in the sight of that pretty little hole greedily taking his cock. "You love this, don't you?" he growled. "You love having my cock inside you."

"Fuck yes," John moaned shamelessly. "I love your cock. I love it when you fuck me with that big cock of yours."

Ginger slowed his thrusts to an agonizing pace, making John whimper in disappointment. "What do you want me to do with my big cock?"

"I want you to fuck me with it," John whined.

Ginger ceased his movements and sneered. " _Tell me_ how you want it!"

"I want it hard and fast!" John cried, his hips rolling with need. "Fucking hard and fast! I want you to fuck me _hard and fast._ Please? I want it so hard I feel you for days. Please? Oh, fuck, Ginger, _please._ "

Ginger growled and stepped up the pace of his thrusts, inducing John to drop down to his elbows with whimpers of satisfaction. The bedroom filled with sounds of eroticism to such intensity, it put the dirtiest of pornos to shame. Hot, breathy moans, skin hitting skin, and the rhythmic squeaking of the bed. It was a good thing that Ginger didn't have any neighbours to complain about the noise.

John arched his back to get more of what he desired. Seeing this, Ginger shifted a bit, angling himself in what he knew was just the right way. Sure enough, with the next thrust, John was crying out as Ginger found his prostate.

"Do that again," John demanded, and Ginger complied, continuing to hit his sweet spot again and again. John fisted the bed sheets in response, his knuckles turning white. "Yes, yes, just like that."

Perspiration coated Ginger's skin as he pounded harder and deeper into John, making him bounce forward with every thrust. John relished in being fucked like this, hard and fast, just as he wanted it. With each thrust, came a more intense rush of pleasure, bringing him closer to his climax.

"Harder!" John cried. Ginger gave a hard shove into John, causing him to jerk forward and—

_Bang!_

His head collided with the sheetrock wall — _hard_ , leaving behind a head-sized hole in its wake. Ginger's movements came to a halt, his flushed skin paling as he stared down at his young lover, who went limp after the impact.

"John?" Ginger called anxiously. He received no response from the motionless man. "Oh shit."

Still connected to the knocked out blond, Ginger frantically tapped on John's back and called his name repeatedly in a desperate attempt to bring him to consciousness. His efforts were fruitless, however, and his worries grew exponentially. Many thoughts ran through Ginger's head; he couldn't help but think that he had just killed his best friend — and during sex of all things! With a hard _slap_ to his backside, John finally made a sound in the form of a low groan. Ginger threw his head back and sighed heavily in relief.

"Oh my god, John! Are you okay?" Ginger tapped on John's back again to grab his attention. John slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder at Ginger — dead straight in the eye with aversion. Ginger gulped and held his breath, prepared to receive the wrath of John's rare fury.

"Why did you stop?" he croaked.

Ginger blinked. "Why did I stop? Why did I stop! Are you fucking serious?!" He couldn't believe it. John just had his head rammed into the wall, and all he's worried about was why he _stopped?_ "Dude, do you have _any_ idea what just happened? Jesus Christ, I thought I killed you! _Why did I STOP?!_ " Ginger roared. He continued to rant his little heart out, scolding John with language that would've made Marilyn Manson proud. John just blinked dazedly at him. Ginger noticed and stopped barking. He inhaled deeply through his nose, willing himself to calm down. "How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts..." John croaked again, sounding confused.

"Do we need to go to the hospital?" Ginger asked with a sigh. He honestly didn't want to go, presuming this was nothing more than a bump on the noggin — but the damn brat's head went through the fucking wall! He could have a concussion or something, so it was best to be safe than sorry.

"Hey..." John giggled. "There's a hole on your wall."

"Yeah," Ginger sighed again. A trip to the emergency room was definitely in order. He slipped off the bed, but not before remembering that he and John were still connected.

"Oh my god!" they cried.

~*~*~

They had decided to go to a walk-in clinic instead of the emergency room, for John's injury wasn't that serious but was still something that needed to be checked out. It was a wise choice, as it was much quicker and less dramatic.

The twosome was sitting patiently in the waiting room, occupying themselves with mundane things while they waited for the doctor to call them in. Ginger was looking through an old issue of a National Geographic, his eyes squinting to read the small text; while John was playing with the loose threads on the hem of his shirt, frowning and bored.

"You seem glum," Ginger told John, taking his eyes off the magazine to look at him. "Do you feel okay?"

" _Oh yeah_ ," John snorted. "As okay as any guy who had his head smashed through a wall by his best friend."

Having heard his statement, a few of the room's occupants stared at them with shock, eyes wide and all. A woman, in particular, shot Ginger a look of profound disapproval, as though she were ready to call the police and report him for assault. Ginger stared back owlishly in horror.

"I'm joking," John told the occupants, cutting the tension in the room. Some people snorted in amusement while others shook their heads dismissively.

Ginger rolled up the magazine and smacked John's arm with it. "Why would you say that?!" he hissed under his breath.

"I was _joking!_ " John hissed back.

Before Ginger could speak his protest, a middle-aged man in a white coat popped into the waiting room and called John's name. John immediately jumped to his feet, happy to have avoided Ginger's bark, and politely greeted the man, who introduced himself as Dr. Burke. With a ghost of a scowl, Ginger followed John and the doctor to his office, mumbling his greet to the man as he did. Once there, Dr. Burke offered them to take a seat, to which they accepted.

"So, Mr. Lowery," said the doctor after closing the door. "What brings you here?" He took a seat at his desk and waited for his patient to answer.

"Um," John hesitated. He had to be discreet about his situation. "I fell and hit my head against the wall."

"To which it went straight through, mind you," Ginger added. He didn't mean to bud in, nor did he want to explain how it occurred, but he figured that the doctor should know about that little tidbit.

Dr. Burke raised his eyebrows at the given information. "You fell, and your head went _through_ the wall...?" he asked his patient, amazed.

"Straight through it," John confirmed, the tips of his ears turning pink. "So I came to get myself checked out."

Dr. Burke hummed and nodded. He momentarily wrote on his clipboard, then he stood up and cleared his throat. "Okay, Mr. Lowery, would you get up on the table please?"

John nodded and complied, perching awkwardly on the examining table.

The first thing Dr. Burke did was examine John's head, squinting for any external injuries and proof of his patient's account. Sure enough, right on top of his head, Dr. Burke discovered a prominent lump, and even a few bits of sheetrock still in John's blond hair, prompting the doctor to quirk his brow in curiosity. "How did you fall? Because the injury is to the top of your head instead of the typical places people hit their heads. So unless you were doing a somersault when you fell, or..."

"Well..." John turned pink. He didn't know what to say. There was no way in hell he was going to tell the doctor the truth of how it happened. This whole affair was all Ginger's fault.

"He stumbled!" Ginger blurted out, practically coming to John's rescue. Bless him.

"Yes!" John agreed at once. "I stumbled when..." he searched his brain for a practical scenario, and found one. "I stumbled when I was putting away my guitar." John ignored the eye roll from Ginger. He never was much of a liar; his parents made sure of that. His explanation may be weak, but it was hopefully an effective one.

"Would you care to specify the event?" Dr. Burke requested.

John's eyes jumped to Ginger for a split second, then back to Dr. Burke. The doctor noticed. "There's not much to tell," John lied. "Umm... me and him," he jutted his chin towards Ginger, "we were jamming out... uh, we're in a band," he coughed. "Anyway, when I bent down to put my guitar away, I lost my balance... then I stumbled and fell..."

"And _that's_ how your head went into the wall..." the doctor drawled. John nodded sheepishly. Dr. Burke nodded slowly, accepting his patient's story, albeit skeptically.

He knew John was fibbing and he had a hunch that his _friend_ was somehow involved. However, he didn't consider this to be a case of assault, but believed it to be more of an accident between friends; something he guessed was probably embarrassing for them. Although Dr. Burke was curious to know the real story behind the matter, it wasn't any of his business to know what happened. His job was to help people, and with that in mind, he'd take his patient's word for it.

"All right then," said Dr. Burke as he pulled out a penlight from his coat pocket. "I'm going to check your vitals and perform some tests. That way we'll determine whether you've suffered a concussion or not. Then we'll see where we go from there."

"Okay," John nodded in agreement.

Turning on his penlight, Dr. Burke pointed the beam directly into John's eyes, searching for any signs of a concussion or any brain injury. He found none. He then performed a series of small tests to ensure that everything was in order. John passed each one. With a nod of approval, Dr. Burke stepped back and smiled.

"Well, everything looks fine," he informed. "I see no signs of a concussion or any brain damage for that matter. Nothing more than a bump on the noggin."

John beamed with relief. In the background, Ginger expressed his relief by letting out a small sigh. The doctor noted their reactions and thought that he was probably right about this being an accident between the two. He was good at reading people after all.

"But may I say..." Dr. Burke looked at both of them knowingly. "To avoid a repeat in the future, I suggest a little less _roughhousing_ next time."

John and Ginger turned as red as tomatoes, mortified. They were unsure if the doctor saw right through them like a pair of pantyhose. Nevertheless, they nodded sheepishly. After an awkward thank you and goodbye, they left the doctor's office, still red-faced.

~*~*~

Upon returning from the clinic, and after five minutes of Ginger singing in delight for the restoration of his hydro, the first thing the pair did was to check out the damage of their so-called 'roughhousing.'

"Wow," was all John and Ginger could say, utterly amazed by the circular hole that resided inches above the bed.

"That is one big glory hole," Ginger commented.

John snorted. "I suppose that's one way to call it."

Ginger tilted his head as he thoroughly studied the hole, and then he did the same to John's head. "Is your head that big?"

John smacked Ginger's arm. "Don't be absurd," he admonished. Ginger just snickered with amusement.

The duo climbed onto the bed and crawled across the mattress until they were kneeling right in front of the gaping hole, and continued to examine the proclaimed 'glory hole' with fascination.

"Well... we certainly went out with a bang this time, eh?" Ginger teased, nudging John's arm with his elbow. "Especially you."

John scowled. "Shut up, Ginger," he snapped, then shook his head in utter disbelief. "I can't believe you did that to me."

It was Ginger's turn to scowl. He was offended that John blamed him for what happened. Sure, he was the one who rammed him into the wall, but he didn't do it on purpose, it was a fucking _accident!_ He had only done what John demanded of him.

" _You told me_ to go harder!" Ginger barked.

"Not into the fucking wall!" John barked right back, pointing his finger at the hole.

"Well, what do you expect from a drummer," Ginger shrugged dismissively, not at all taking the issue as seriously as John. "When we bang, we bang _hard._ "

"That is no excuse, Ginger!" John bristled. Ginger's constant joking regarding said issue was starting to annoy him. "I could have had brain damage or something!"

"You didn't have a brain, to begin with," Ginger quipped.

John opened his mouth, about to bark out a retort, but his mind quickly drew to a blank as soon as he processed what Ginger had said. Unable to think of a comeback, he slumped his shoulders and sniffed. "Thanks."

"Awe, come here." Ginger wrapped his arm around John's shoulder and pulled him into his embrace, to which John snuggled up against him like an affectionate kitten. Very gently, Ginger planted a small kiss to the top of his head, right on the bump, making John smile. He just loved it when Ginger did stuff like that. It made him feel safe, and it was undoubtedly one of his favourite qualities about him.

How ironic though, that the one person he felt the safest with was the one who sent him to the doctors. Yes, John was upset that Ginger nearly — quite literally — banged him to death, but because he was a sweetheart to the core and a hopeless sucker for the drummer boy, he couldn't hold a grudge against him. It wasn't in his nature to do so. He still loved the bastard, and he always will. No matter what.

Like they say: Forgive and forget.

"Hey, Ginge?"

"Hmm?"

"Want to finish what we started?"

Ginger blinked. "No brain damage my ass," he deadpanned, earning an elbow to the ribs.


End file.
